


Megahusband

by TheSuspiciousOrange



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: And I blame tumblr for this, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Holoforms (Transformers), M/M, Marriage, Megatron's a shitlord, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSuspiciousOrange/pseuds/TheSuspiciousOrange
Summary: You're married to Megatron and left with an interesting dilema:exactly how does one fuck a giant robot?





	Megahusband

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Rocksinmuffin and a lovely anon on tumblr for this. Megahusband is the disease and the only cure is smut.

It’s a reluctant arrangement, born out of pure necessity, spite, and lies: your marriage to Megatron.

But here you are, on your wedding night with the lord of the Decepticons. A mech who has fought a war longer than your race has been alive and yet you’re now bonded to him in the most intimate of ways. The only thing left is to consummate your union.

Which leaves you at an odd crossroads.

How does one fuck a giant metal being?

You know you should back out of this, make some sort of arrangement with the towering lord to deceive those who would question the union. But you can’t. This is your husband, like it or not. You would have to work out something with him. People would eventually expect you to start to try to have a family and you need to figure out what is physically possible for the two of you. 

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

You wait so long that you eventually nod off on your hotel suite bed, curled up in your wedding garments.

You don’t even stir as the door to your room opens. Your eyes refuse to crack open until rough, calloused hands are roughly shaking your shoulders, a familiar yet different graveled, smoky voice snapping for you to return to consciousness. Rather than being met being met by the expected angular and shining silver of Megatron’s faceplates, you’re greeted by a shockingly human face.

Oh.

Oh _no._

_He’s hot_.

His eyes are dark russet, almost brown but the red tinge to them sticks out just enough to be unnerving. Sharp, pronounced cheekbones stand out against his set eyes. The only facial hair marking his rugged yet refined looks was a single patch of dark hair at his chin, hints of a five o'clock shadow tracing his jawline. Though his hair is silvered, he wears it smoothed back in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it just to muss it up.

The stranger smirks and you can feel a little bit of your sense of shame die with that twitch of finely crafted lips. “I see this form pleases you,” the Adonis states in a dry tone.

You barely manage a strangled sound.

The laugh, though mocking, that comes from this man would have turned your knees to jelly had you been standing. “You humans are easier to please than I had previously thought. No matter,” he purrs.

Humans?

This is–

Oh.

“Megatron,” you breathe, feeling your heart pound a wild tattoo against your ribs.

He hums, red irises locked firmly on you as his fingers wander from your shoulder, down your side to cup your hip. “It’s been a long time,” the tyrant growls lowly, “since I’ve heard my name said in such a way.”

A strangled, “Oh fuck,” barely escaped your throat before you find yourself relieved of your lower garments. It’s almost funny how easily his fingers shred your clothes. Even in this… state? form?… the Decepticon leader could kill you with little effort. Yet here he was, shifting you higher onto the bed, staring down at you like he was ready to devour you in a single bite.

Which you just might let him do.

Your thoughts are quite rudely interrupted, however, by a very warm, very _real_ mouth finding itself quite happily between your legs.

A startled gasp wrenches from your throat, fingers diving into his silvered tresses. Megatron’s lips and tongue work feverishly against you, eyes devouring your every expression without shame and with as much gusto as he did your body. Blunt nails dig firmly into the meat of your thighs, leaving deep crescent shapes along the tender flesh.

Occasionally, when your moans begin to die down to heavy pants and keens, his oh-so-talented mouth wanders over to issue a sharp nip to bring you back to the here and now. You can feel your completion quickly racing up on you, your sounds becoming more feverish and your writhing more insistent.

Megatron, as in many things, does not show any mercy. He refused to let you get swept up blindly in your passion, pausing his efforts momentarily to examine you. “I want you present and aware as you overload. You will scream my name so that even the Primes long dead will know who brings you pleasure. Do you understand?” A tongue darting to lap a small bead of your fluid at the corner of the mech’s lips distracts you momentarily but another sharp bite, this one hard enough to bruise, quickly corrects that error. “Am I clear, human?”

“Crystal,” you pant out finally, though it soon devolves back into whimpers and groans as he redoubles his efforts. Your noises quickly pick up in pitch and fervor, fingers twisting in his hair hard enough to draw pleased grunts from the overlord.

Finally, with a crafty flick of his tongue and a firm suck, you’re pleasure crests and overwhelms you. White heat floods your body, eyes squeezing shut as you scream yourself hoarse. You don’t know what you’re crying out but that doesn’t matter; not in this moment. Thighs trembling and body shuddering, you flop unceremoniously back onto the bed, dazedly wondering when you had arched off of it.

A throaty chuckle draws you reluctantly from your pleased stupor. “Excellent. But I hope you’re not done, sweetspark,” Megatron hums mockingly into your ear, cool breath dancing over your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. You shiver at the temperature difference, clutching the bedspread. “Because we’ve barely gotten started.”

Primus save you. This marriage would be your death.


End file.
